into open revolt, and she bolted for the basin on the table at her bedside. A strong arm slid around her waist, supporting her as she retched into the bowl. Brishen’s hand smoothed her hair. He held her until she emptied her stomach and offered her a glass of water to rinse her mouth.
Afterwards, she gazed at Brishen, bleary-eyed but resolved. Ildiko had faced down a woman far more venomous than a scarpatine. She would not be defeated by dinner. “At least tell me it tastes like chicken.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Though his mother might be planning Ildiko’s murder for her unforgiveable refusal to be cowed, Brishen couldn’t fault the queen for the feast she ordered prepared to officially welcome him and his wife home.
The dining hall was lavishly decorated. Flowers from the royal gardens hung in garlands over the windows and spilled in lush bouquets on the tables, their opalescent petals glowing beneath the flickering light of candles and hanging lamps. The tables were covered in cloths of finely woven linen and silk, the benches upon which the nobility sat, lined with velvet cushions.
The high table was even more appointed, set to emphasize the royal house’s wealth and power. An army of liveried servants lined the walls behind the tables, ready to serve.
It was all grand, even majestic—fit for a royal herceges and his hercegesé . Brishen wished fiercely he could grab Ildiko’s hand and escape back to her chamber—or his—and share a meal in relative solitude. If not there, then with the soldiers under his command. Even road rations tasted delectable when shared with good company. Ildiko could avoid another serving of scarpatine and he, his parents’ poisonous interactions. As it was, escape was not an option, and he prayed for a quick end to the celebration.
He approached the high table, Ildiko by his side and the recipient of countless curious stares from the nobles gathered in the hall. She bore their scrutiny proudly. Attired in her crow-black finery, she was the picture of serenity and confidence—shoulders and back straight, chin raised at a haughty angle—equal to any member of the Kai royal household.
She wore her mask well, but Brishen sensed her fear. Her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, fingers buried in the folds of his sleeve. Were she Kai instead of human and possessed the same sharp nails, she would have sliced through the fabric and scored his forearm bloody. Luckily, her tight grip only managed to slow the flow of blood to his fingers.
Ildiko might not reciprocate the feeling, but Brishen considered himself fortunate to have such a wife. She was shrewd and insightful. Raised amidst another royal court, she understood its machinations and manipulations; its subtle messages conveyed in something as innocuous as the cut of a tunic or its color. He’d shield her as much as possible from the criticisms of the Kai, which would focus on her homely appearance and spread from there, but he suspected she’d manage to hold her own with even the most acerbic Kai aristocrat. They’d witnessed Ildiko stand against Secmis’s barbed comments and the implied threat in her pointed questions. Only a few dimwitted Kai would still assume that she was cowardly because she was human.
The nobles bowed as he and Ildiko passed them. Brishen ignored their stares as he always did and leaned closer to Ildiko. “How is your stomach?”
She stared straight ahead, but her fingers flexed on his arm. “It’s there,” she said softly.
He smothered a smile at her noncommittal answer. The idea to introduce her to the delicacy of baked scarpatine before the dinner had been a strategic one. Even some of the Kai found the dish revolting, and it represented a much more challenging entree to serve as well as eat than the passive, foul-tasting potato.
Her reaction hadn’t surprised him. Her determination to eat the gray flesh still squirming on
Afterwards, she gazed at Brishen, bleary-eyed but resolved. Ildiko had faced down a woman far more venomous than a scarpatine. She would not be defeated by dinner. “At least tell me it tastes like chicken.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Though his mother might be planning Ildiko’s murder for her unforgiveable refusal to be cowed, Brishen couldn’t fault the queen for the feast she ordered prepared to officially welcome him and his wife home.
The dining hall was lavishly decorated. Flowers from the royal gardens hung in garlands over the windows and spilled in lush bouquets on the tables, their opalescent petals glowing beneath the flickering light of candles and hanging lamps. The tables were covered in cloths of finely woven linen and silk, the benches upon which the nobility sat, lined with velvet cushions.
The high table was even more appointed, set to emphasize the royal house’s wealth and power. An army of liveried servants lined the walls behind the tables, ready to serve.
It was all grand, even majestic—fit for a royal herceges and his hercegesé . Brishen wished fiercely he could grab Ildiko’s hand and escape back to her chamber—or his—and share a meal in relative solitude. If not there, then with the soldiers under his command. Even road rations tasted delectable when shared with good company. Ildiko could avoid another serving of scarpatine and he, his parents’ poisonous interactions. As it was, escape was not an option, and he prayed for a quick end to the celebration.
He approached the high table, Ildiko by his side and the recipient of countless curious stares from the nobles gathered in the hall. She bore their scrutiny proudly. Attired in her crow-black finery, she was the picture of serenity and confidence—shoulders and back straight, chin raised at a haughty angle—equal to any member of the Kai royal household.
She wore her mask well, but Brishen sensed her fear. Her hand rested in the crook of his elbow, fingers buried in the folds of his sleeve. Were she Kai instead of human and possessed the same sharp nails, she would have sliced through the fabric and scored his forearm bloody. Luckily, her tight grip only managed to slow the flow of blood to his fingers.
Ildiko might not reciprocate the feeling, but Brishen considered himself fortunate to have such a wife. She was shrewd and insightful. Raised amidst another royal court, she understood its machinations and manipulations; its subtle messages conveyed in something as innocuous as the cut of a tunic or its color. He’d shield her as much as possible from the criticisms of the Kai, which would focus on her homely appearance and spread from there, but he suspected she’d manage to hold her own with even the most acerbic Kai aristocrat. They’d witnessed Ildiko stand against Secmis’s barbed comments and the implied threat in her pointed questions. Only a few dimwitted Kai would still assume that she was cowardly because she was human.
The nobles bowed as he and Ildiko passed them. Brishen ignored their stares as he always did and leaned closer to Ildiko. “How is your stomach?”
She stared straight ahead, but her fingers flexed on his arm. “It’s there,” she said softly.
He smothered a smile at her noncommittal answer. The idea to introduce her to the delicacy of baked scarpatine before the dinner had been a strategic one. Even some of the Kai found the dish revolting, and it represented a much more challenging entree to serve as well as eat than the passive, foul-tasting potato.
Her reaction hadn’t surprised him. Her determination to eat the gray flesh still squirming on
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